


It's a Trap

by dontbecooler



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Hunter John, M/M, Memories, Mind Games, One Shot, Roleplay, Vampire Sherlock, kinda hard to explain, pretty good though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontbecooler/pseuds/dontbecooler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock was captured, after not being caught for a long time. John is his interviewer, but he has a talent Sherlock wants to take advantage of. How will he, when he's paralyzed and staked to a chair??</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Trap

**Author's Note:**

> Ah yes, i enjoyed writing this :) If this is you, why did you stop emailing me back! I had to finish it by myself!! Oh well. They were John, I was Sherlock. Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> (Serious though if this was you pls respond and let me know)

Sherlock Holmes was a very infamous vampire.  
With snappy remarks and a greater-than-your-average-vampire IQ, he could kill you with a twitch of his hand, but not until after he figured out your whole story.  
No matter how vampire hunters tried to slay him, he just couldn't be caught.  
Well, until he was snapped up out of the blue by a new vampire hunter.  
He was staked through the arm, while he was feeding in an alleyway, having not noticed the stake bearer creeping up behind him.  
Since his body became paralyzed the newbie brought him into head quarters easily. The kid had never been so praised.  
Sherlock glared at the white room. If they were going to kill him they might as well do it already. His arm was left staked, so he couldn't move, the bright lights stung his eyes, and since he couldn't move he couldn't blink away the irritation.  
The door opened, and a short but strong looking blonde with blue eyes stepped in. "Hello, Mr. Holmes," he greeted easily, "My name is John Watson."  
Sherlock, obviously, stayed quiet.

John walked around the table, reading his notes. He didn't need to; everyone knew about Sherlock Holmes. But it was the look of the thing.  
"Bit of a blow to the ego, getting grabbed by the new kid on the block," he remarked, flicking a page. "Stings us a bit too, since we've been trying to bring you in for...how long, now?" He glanced up at Sherlock, arching an eyebrow.

Sherlock tried his best to glare, getting up enough will power to flick his gaze briefly to the stake.  
'Wanna chat? Take that out', he spat in his mind, taking in all he could about the man.  
Injured right leg, but not bad enough he needs a cane, confident, cocky though. Resists moving his left shoulder. Is that injured too? Sherlock glared with all his might.

"See, that's not fair," John drawled, rubbing at his temple. "Thinking that loudly can give a man a headache, and I've enough crap to deal with." He made no move to remove the stake; Sherlock was outnumbered, but that hadn't stopped him before.

Sherlock would have raised an eyebrow. It was only once in a blue moon that he came across a telepath.  
'I assume so,' Sherlock tested, wondering if the mans statement was a fluke. 'Seeing as you just got rather injured', Sherlock continued, not able to break the gaze of the hunter because of his paralysis.

John sighed and focused. It was easier to receive than send messages, but he'd gotten pretty good at both in self-defense when he'd been holed up recovering from the bullet wound that ended his Army career.  
'My injuries aren't that recent,' he sent back. 'Not as recent as the blinding headache I'll get from this.'

Sherlock felt a surge of elation. 'You're welcome', Sherlock sent, mentally grinning at himself. This might be fun.  
He sent out a few wandering tendrils, poking and prodding at the walls the hunter had up. He tested a few bits, drawing away when the hunter became slightly aware of the silent investigation.  
'And you're right, shame on you, being beaten out by a rookie'.

'Right place, right time, lucky kiddo,' John returned. The thought was flavored with wry amusement and a slight undertone of jealousy.  
Capturing Sherlock himself would have helped him feel whole again. Instead, here they were, sparring mentally.  
'You, though. That was extraordinarily careless of you. Stop poking at the walls, they're there for a reason.'

'All the more reason to get in them,' Sherlock retorted. He pushed suddenly at the defense, putting a little bit of force behind it. No budge.  
'It’s kind of hard to listen around yourself when your neck deep,' Sherlock elaborated, feeling slightly better at how his interviewer visibly paled.

That push fucking hurt. John inhaled and let the pain dissolve as he pushed it away to deal with the vampire in front of him.  
He shoved back at the fog surrounding Sherlock's thoughts, even though he knew it was silly to try and punch a fog. Still, he got purchase on something solid in the shifting landscape.  
'Which just means you're not as good as you thought.'

Sherlock let out a mental hiss. 'You don't want to go in there,' he growled. Shifting the fog in his mind, making it thicker, he kept the subject going. 'I am always as good as I think,' Sherlock replied, spreading the tendrils so it covered the whole wall.  
He let it set there, putting a slight pressure over the whole thing. He was testing, feeling for weak spots. He knew what he would do if he found one.

John sighed and turned a chair around, sitting with his arms crossed on the back as he closed his eyes and focused on reinforcing the wall. 'Are you?' he asked, his mental voice blessedly free of the strain he was undergoing to keep Sherlock out. 'Then explain how feeding left you that vulnerable.'

'Because it was so heavenly, the taste of that young woman,' Sherlock let out a mental moan, letting it vibrate though the link the two men had created. 'She was so young, so pure,' he purred, feeling the wall grow thicker underneath his touch.  
Sherlock put a tiny bit of force behind his tendrils, not wanting to get finally shut out when he was so close. So close to control.

'That's not going to work out all that well for you,' John murmured with a secret little smile.  
There was a reason he was one of the best vampire hunters, and it sure as hell wasn't because he was the fastest or the strongest. 'So you let yourself get distracted by young pussy. And?'

Sherlock let out a hiss. He calmed himself, pushing forwards. He was slightly rusty at this mind thing, but he was still reasonably well off.  
'Her scent overwhelmed me, blood and screams,' Sherlock let the memory flash in front of the fog, like a screen the girl was underneath him, blood seeping onto his tongue as he enveloped her body with his own.  
He also let his feelings go across the link. Hunger being sated, pleasure, a warmth he felt rarely. And power. There was always power when he fed. 'You become easily distracted,' Sherlock explained, letting the memory replay.

John blinked as he processed the memories and emotions quickly. He was used to that sort of thing, though not usually this powerful or focused. Sherlock used the usual rehashing of memories as a weapon.  
When he was sure Sherlock believed John to be impenetrable, John opened a small chink deliberately, making it look like he'd lost part of the wall on accident. His mind was a coiled steel trap; Sherlock wasn't the first vamp to try and get through. Nor would he be the last to get attacked by John's memories.

Sherlock leapt at the weakness, but he saw darkness swirling it its depth. Sherlock pulled back momentarily, but after he gathered more strength, he pushed onwards, keeping a shield of dark wispy tendrils wrapped around his mental being.  
He felt like he was walking through a forest, and he moved forward cautiously. This was the first time he hadn't met memories straight away. Sherlock ventured onwards, searching for some sort of bodily control if he could find it, he could take the body over, make the hunter set him free.

Smiling a little, John settled back and let his mind shift Sherlock through the coiled maze.  
There were memories in there, but the majority of his memories were sealed away, hidden in plain sight. Only a few memories were allowed to wander freely, and they had teeth.

Sherlock paused his advances when he heard something move behind him. He spun, the tendrils wrapped around his being growing sharp in defense. There was nothing there, but Sherlock was sure he was being watched.  
He made the wisps spread out, searching for the memory, tugging and pulling at anything and everything.

What everyone forgot, their key weakness, was that memories were at least four-dimensional. Height, depth, breadth... and time. One of the guard memories was standing just a few inches above the vampire's head, but thanks to the time dimension, it was shifted just out of Sherlock's reach. It could, however, make an attack, and it did as soon as  
Sherlock was focused on pulling. It dove down onto the vamp's head, chewing at everything it could reach.  
This was a memory of Afghanistan, the hard steel John had developed after his first kill.

Sherlock hissed at it, feeling it pull at him and try and force him into submission. Sherlock stood, projecting an even stronger memory in retaliation. It was one of his worst.  
Being turned. Sherlock saw it fly forward in his minds eye, hearing his own shrieks in his ears, the burning, acidic on every nerve.  
It pushed the hunters memory out of the after a few moments. Sherlock withdrew the memory, and he began to search for the exit.  
He let his tendrils search, but he felt like he was in an empty expanse. There were no exits, nothing.

'You're in my head, Sherlock Holmes,' John sent, his mental voice booming around the expanse of his skull. 'Which means you're playing by my rules. Rule one? Once you're in, you can't get out without permission.'

Sherlock’s being spat and hissed like a wild cat. This was not what he had planned. He gathered strength, and pushed the tendrils out further. They continued to touch nothing, so he drew them in.  
'You sadistic fuck,' Sherlock growled, feeling his mind alight in pain. He had been away from his own body for too long, and he was weakening.

'I'm the sadist?' John asked, amused. 'You pushed where you weren't wanted. I even warned you, and I don't usually warn people. This is a consequence of your actions. Not unlike the stake in your arm. Is that weakening you still further?'

Sherlock kept quiet. He didn't like not having the one-up. Something caught his minds eye. A small light. Tiny, off further away. Keeping his mind calm, he began towards it, feeling his own body trying to move and escape, out of self preservation. Without a mind to command it, it had begun to make small screeching noises that were muffled by paralysis.  
Sherlock moved toward the light more quickly, it was a happy memory, he was sure.

It was a happy memory, a calm little core of John that was well away from any control centers.  
The light was filled with memories of laughter, of games with a little sister out on a green lawn, of being given a medal of commendation for saving lives, of his graduation from basic training when he gained the right to call himself a soldier.  
It was a lure, but it was no less real for all of that.

When Sherlock was close enough, he didn't waste time in looking at it, he wrapped his tendrils around it. This was warfare, hesitation meant death.  
He immediately tainted one memory, poisoning it with cruel things. The little sisters head grew, mouth sprouting horrid pointed teeth, she began growling at the hunter.  
Sherlock knew that once a memory was tainted there was no getting it back.  
He kept his wisps over the other memories. 'Let me out, or they go too,' he threatened, knowing that his actual vision was blurring around the edges as it watched the smirking hunter opposite him.

'Do you think I haven't made copies?' John asked mildly. 'Or that I would leave my best memories for some shit-eating vampire to trip over by accident?' The trap sprung around Sherlock, wrapping him in iron vines that grew and dragged him away from the memories.

Sherlock let out an inhuman shriek, using all his strength to try and get out of the trap. The tendrils were making little whining noises too, pulling with all their might at the vines. No use.  
As a final defense, Sherlock threw his worst memories out.  
Losing Mycroft, the pain and the terror of being alone as he saw the stake hit home.  
Walking into the sun accidentally once, it blistering his skin and burning his core.  
Tripping and falling into holy water when he was young, the hissing of his skin melting away.  
'LET ME OUT!' Sherlock screamed, choking back a sob as he felt dark begin to edge into his real vision, his actual lungs straining for air.

When he was sure he'd made his point, John raised his real hand and snapped his fingers, releasing Sherlock from the prison of John's mind and restoring his mental self to the struggling body opposite him.  
"You will stay out of my head," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Have I made myself clear?" His mind locked down to the point where Sherlock would have to send very loudly for John to hear a mental voice.  
He was tired and had a headache, but he was rather better off than the shaking vampire opposite him.

Sherlock swallowed. 'Fuck. You,' he growled loudly, dissipating the fog around his own mind to find and cherish his good memories. He was sure he wouldn't get out to find his mate.  
Jim, he would be all alone, and he would never know what happened to Sherlock. Feeling suddenly distraught, he let out a feeble keen for his lost lover.  
'Kill me already,' Sherlock spat, enveloping himself in pleasant memories.  
First taste of blood, first kisses. He wanted to die wrapped up in these.

John grinned, drawing a silver alloyed gun from his hip. Many-a-time he had used them against werewolves, but they were effective against other undead creatures too. “Ah, yes, of course. Jim Moriarty. How sweet that you wish to die with him in your thoughts.” He leveled the gun, checking the ammunition to make sure the bullet was coated in dead mans blood.  
“Have fun in hell.” John spat, pulling the trigger, once, twice, three times.  
One hole opened up in Sherlock’s skull, one in his chest, and another went through his eye. John grinned, leaving the slumped undead in the chair as he walked out of the room.


End file.
